


Until The Very End

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam remembers how Dean stayed with him until the very end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until The Very End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink prompt: You know that one scene from the Apocalypse That Wasn't, where Lucifer!Sam is beating the crap out of Dean, and Dean is constantly telling Sam that "it's alright, I'm here, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere"? I'd like to see a fic with Sam remembering his time as Lucifer's vessel (not the Pit, but everything before it) and remembering what he did to Dean and how Dean never gave up on him, no matter how bad the situation got. Sam tries to thank him for it, but Dean just casually brushes it off as a "what else are brothers for" moment. But Sam knows that it was more than that. I'd like to see him keep trying to thank Dean, always achieving the same result, until he finally takes his brother to the bedroom and shows Dean just how *thankful* he is.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

He remembered. It came first in snippets, moments between sleeping and awaking where he's not sure if they're memories or pieces of torture Lucifer has left him with.  
  
 _"Sammy, it's okay - it's okay..."  
  
_ He tosses and turns and can see Dean's face, blood pouring and bruises forming.  
  
 _"...I'm here, I'm here..."_  
  
He can see Dean's eyes on him, half closed from the punches  _he's_ putting there.  _Sam_. Sam as  _Lucifer_. It all starts connecting and he tells himself to wake up, tries to force himself to just  _wake up_.  
  
 _"...I'm not gonna leave you..."_  
  
A punch. Dean grabs at his jacket, keeps looking at him, and Sam can't breathe.  
  
 _"...I'm not gonna leave you!"_  
  
Dean, he just stays there. Holds onto him. And Sam knows he's gonna kill him, feels his fist raise, sees all of that blood. He's going to kill Dean, he's going to kill his brother, and Dean stayed there, stayed with him...  
  
::  
  
He has to tread tentatively when he brings it up to Dean. Goes to say something, "Dean, I --" or "Remember when --" then cuts off and makes up some stupid lie. Dean looks at him like he grew a second head and continues to watch him for the rest of the day. The back of Sam's neck prickles, he feels himself grow red, and he spends more time in the bathroom than strictly necessary.  
  
Like usually happens with them, Dean finds out only after he directly asks: "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
Then Sam laughs, with some combination of relief and fear, and sucks in a breath. "I remember being Lucifer."  
  
Dean's whole demeanour shifts. His face falls and he just stares, unseeing, in Sam's direction, eyes darkening. Sam waits, mostly because he's tongue won't move and his throat feels tight.  
  
"No, you don't," he sounds too defensive. "Cas did the whole soul thing - you're back to good."  
  
"I..." He clears his throat. "I don't remember the pit. Just...before it. I remember...you."  
  
He cuts off too quickly and the long pause spills between them. Dean still looks and Sam's having a hard time keeping eye contact. He forces himself to keep talking, because it seems like the only thing left to do.  
  
"You stayed -  _that's_ what I remember. I nearly  _killed_ you Dean. Fuck--I coulda  _killed you_. And you stayed. Why? Why would you --?" He cuts off again and doesn't look at Dean. This isn't the time for chick flick moments or babbling, he reels in his thoughts, pinpoints what he needs and sucks in a breath. "Just...thank you. Think you're an idiot for doing it, can't believe you were so stupid! But...thank you."  
  
When he looks back at his brother, Dean has a smirk on his face. "What else are brothers for?"  
  
And that's the end of that.  
  
::  
  
He tries again the next day. Same result. Sam shit-eating smirk on Dean's face as he throws Sam the paper, pokes an article with his finger, and says "Let's hunt."  
  
::  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Sam's turned it into a single word. Dean knows what it means, Sam's sure of it, but he plays the dumb-cared and just goes about whatever he's doing. He's cleaning guns right now. Sitting on his motel bed with the barrel in one hand and a grease-stained cloth in the other. Dean says the cloth makes the guns shoot straighter, Sam just snorted at the explanation.  
  
"Dean."  
  
He looks up with mild interest. "Yeah?"  
  
"Did you hear me?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Sam sighs, growls a little in the back of his throat. Dean's not  _getting it_. Doesn't seem to understand just how fucking important what he did was. He saved the whole world! More than that, he saved Sam.  
  
Maybe that's what does it all, what finally makes that ache in his chest and heart win over the rational of his brain. It's been too long, too much pain, and he's gotta make Dean understand. That lack of a soul taught him a few things, and sometimes you should embrace what experiences life gives you.  
  
He crosses the room from the table he's sitting at to the bed Dean's seated at the edge of. He reaches out quickly, tries not to think, and pulls the gun from Dean's hand. Follows with the cloth that smears his fingertips black. Finally,  _finally_ , he settles on looking at Dean. Dean, as pretty much expected, looks confused as fuck.  
  
"Sam, what--? I gotta clean tho--"  
  
Sam leans down, splays his fingertips on either side of Dean's face, and kisses him.  
  
He's let out a weird yelp that Sam can't help laughing at, despite the fucked-up scenario of it all. He moves back, looks at Dean's  _whatthefuck_ face, and kisses him again. This time Dean doesn't yelp, doesn't make any sound, what he does do - in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment - is kiss Sam back.  
  
"Thank you," he murmurs into Dean's mouth. "Thank you."  
  
He presses Dean back into the bed, parts of guns be damned. Usually - in just about any situation - Dean would be pitching a bitch fest about all the parts being messed up. For whatever reason, that isn't happening here. Dean actually seems to not care at all. He lets Sam hold him into the bed, get in over him and lean more of his weight down. He doesn't break the kiss and Sam licks over his lower lip.  
  
"We can't--" Sam thinks he hears Dean say during it all, but the words aren't very convincing, because they're still kissing.  
  
"Why?" He asks into Dean's mouth anyway, because he knows what Dean means. Knows, but  _doesn't care_. So he's a freak. That's okay. He can deal with that now.  
  
"Not. Right." The words are each separated with a closed-mouth kiss, Sam looking down at his brother between each. The words don't really comprehend. Besides, they're not true.  
  
 "Wouldn't listen to me say thank you," Sam breathes, "Get it now?"  
  
Dean shakes his head and Sam's eyebrows twist together in confusion. Then the corners of his brother's lips twist upward, and that trademark smirk is coming back. That  _jerk_.  
  
"You been planning this?" He asks, incredulous.  
  
Dean shakes his head, but the smirk never leaves. He leans up, catches Sam's lip with his teeth, and bites down gently. Sam lets him, holds onto it, feels his pants become too tight. Then Dean lays back down and stares up at him.  
  
"Kinda knew," he says, "Guys don't usually jerk off to thoughts of their brother."  
  
"You--"  
  
"Uh-uh. Not me." The smirk grows, molds into a huge grin. "You're just very vocal, Sammy."  
  
Sam feels heat rise in his cheeks and spread to his shoulders and chest. He didn't even know he said those things out loud. Or  _how_ loud. Restricted masturbation to a shower-activity for God's sake. How Dean heard whispers over the pounding of water he'll never know.  
  
"So, you gonna prove your  _appreciation_?" He sounds borderline mocking now.  
  
"You jerk," he voices, but doesn't go to move. He's pretty sure Dean notices that, too.  
  
Dean lowers a hand and brushes it over Sam's zip. He sucks in a breath, realising just how hard he is. Just from kissing, just from Dean'  _presence_. And it's a whole lot less awkward than he ever thought it would be. Maybe they're just that fucked up.  
  
He doesn't hesitate, not now, not that Dean seems to have gotten over any moral obligation he thinks he owes him. They lost their morals a long time ago, Sam was the fucking devil. Time to make everything fall into its correct place, society be damned. He goes to the zip of Dean's jeans and pulls it down, follows with a yank to his jeans. Dean's hand freezes over his crotch and Sam times it as his chance to move, off Dean, and clears the jeans over Dean's knees, his calves, his ankles. He throws them to the floor.  
  
Dean doesn't need any prompting to get his hands moving to pull his own shirt off after that. Ditto on getting Sam's over his head and to the floor. Sam kisses his neck, hard enough that he's sure blood vessels are breaking and there's gonna be a mark there by the next morning.  _Mine_. The thought sends a rush southwards.  
  
Dean's hands move to his hair, tug lightly, and follows through - too impatient,  _pushing_ , really - as Sam moves to press his mouth down Dean's body. Leaves wet streaks and smiles against him, because it's all overwhelming and crazy and it's gonna be  _so fucking good_. Dean's erection bumps against his chin and he hesitates, less than a second, thought of  _youreallywannadothis?_ running through his mind.  _No turning back. This is it. Fuckfuckfuck_. The last one wins out, and he takes Dean in his mouth.  
  
Dean bucks toward him immediately, entire lower portion rising from the bed. Sam's hands move to his hips and clamp, holding him down. He's never  _done this_. And Dean's about to get his dick bitten off if he's not careful.  _Unintentionally_ , of course. Sam might be fucked up, but he's quite that far gone.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes up and sees Dean looking at him, watches as he mouths a  _God--_ and his head falls back to the bed. That's enough encouragement for Sam to know he's at least doing  _something_ right, and he runs his tongue up and down. Dean tries to move under him, but Sam's got a firm hold on the juts of his hipbones and he's not going anywhere.

  
It's over quicker than Sam was expecting, and he's only half prepared for the taste of Dean in his mouth. Swallows, reflexively, and it's not all that great but he doesn't stop. His hand moves, slides over Dean's cock until he's pushing him away with a breathless, exhausted "fuck, Sammy." He even lets out a small chuckle and Sam smiles at him, moving back up the bed.

"Is this appreciation from you to me, or do I gotta be reciprocal?" Sam follows Dean's eyes down to the bulge in his pants, painful and straining to break through the denim.

"How long's your refractory period, old man?" Because Sam's got ideas, one's that he wants Dean's hard cock to be involved in.

Dean sends him a look and shoves his shoulder, but Sam hardly moves an inch and instead his fingers slide across the bottom of Dean's belly, sticky come mixing with the grease-stains. It really doesn't take long for Sam to see Dean's dick start twitching. The smile comes back to his face and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Got the libido of an eighteen year old," he says.

"Good to know."

Sam kisses him. Softer, slower this time, and the tip of his tongue touches Dean's. He rolls over, on top of Dean, and holds him down with hands softly on his face. Dean's all the way hard almost instantaneously, exactly what Sam expected. He takes off his own jeans, quickly, hissing out when they get caught on his ankles and Dean gives him a look and pulls them the rest of the way off. His hands then wrap around Sam's body.  
  
"What've you got in mind big boy?" He says the endearment with an appreciative look between Sam's legs and Sam feels himself blush  _again_.  
  
It doesn't really last long, not after Dean shifts and his cock rubs against his leg. Yeah,  _the plan_. Not really a plan, not one that needs blueprints and long-term preparation, but still something he's had in mind for a long, long time.

When he gets up, Dean's complaining straight away. "Can't get me hard again then just leave--!"  
  
Sam looks over his shoulder and shakes his head. "Patience." He walks across the room, stepping over their discarded clothes, and goes for Dean's duffle. He knows his brother's got everything there, everything anyone could want for a night of fucking. Dean doesn't complain, which surprises him, but maybe he already knows what's going on. A silent  _yes_. Sam finds what he wants and hurries back to the bed.  
  
"So..." He holds the bottle of lube up, shakes it a little toward Dean. He sees his eyes widen. "We don't  _have to_ , I mean, I can suck you off again..." Because, yeah, this is going really,  _really_ fast. Probably too fast.

But Dean kisses him again. Tongue hot and invading his mouth. Sam's got no issue kissing back, all but forgotten about  _toofasttoosoon_.  _Toogood_ is a much better thought. When Dean lets him breath he snaps open the cap, squeezes the cold liquid slowly onto his fingers, until Dean's groaning in frustration and bucks gently toward him. Sam can just read his thoughts:  _Hey, remember me? Hard over here_. He can't help but smile. So much smiling tonight, it's so good to feel again.

He touches their lips together, mid-smile, as he presses one finger into Dean. Hears him hiss out, feels him move, then he settles again. Sam moves slowly, leans back to watch his brother, but Dean kinda looks out of it, eyes hazy and a tiny smile twisting his face upward.  
  
"Hey," Sam says gently. Dean's eyes focus. "You good?"  
  
It's a real smile now. "Yeah. Perfect."  
  
Sam adds another finger, watching Dean. He doesn't look hurt, doesn't look uncomfortable, and Sam thinks this whole "thank you" thing is going along just about as good as he ever could've imagined. And he'd imagined.  
  
A lot.  
  
He flicks open the bottle again, adding more of the lube, this time smearing it over his hard dick. Dean watches, still with that little, sated smile on his face.  
  
"You good?" Sam repeats.  
  
Dean nods again. "Quit worrying. C'mon, show me how  _thankful_ you are."   
  
His hands tug at Sam's lower back, trying to move him closer, and Sam doesn't object. His hands hold loosely onto Dean's hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the gap of hip and dip of stomach. Now or never.  
  
He goes in slowly, half an inch turns into quarter of an inch, slow, slow. Dean only wants slow for the first tiny bit, then his hands are incessant on Sam's back and he practically  _pulls_ Sam into him. Low, throaty moan leaves his mouth once they're settled, and that sound makes Sam's cock feel ready to blow. Mentally tells himself  _no_ , and starts moving.  
  
Different to anything he's ever felt. Okay, maybe that has a slight thing to do with the fact he's  _fucking his brother_. But that's not something he dwells on. That'd be too fucking weird. He's sees Dean's face, eyes closed and mouth slack, and it's so, so hot. Shouldn't be. But it is. Dean, who stayed with him through the lost soul, through the torturous teenage years, and Dean who stayed with him until the very end.  
  
He leans down, body covering Dean's, and whispers, "Thank you." He feels Dean shiver, hears a soft noise rise in his throat. "Thank you," he repeats, and he knows Dean gets it.

Sam moves back just enough to get a hand between their stomachs and wraps it around Dean's cock, covering the length with slow, languid strokes. "Sam--" Dean warns, and Sam speeds up both his hand and his thrusts.  
  
Dean comes first, hot and fast against his hand, but Sam's pretty quick to follow. His hands grip tighter into Dean's sides and he murmurs. "Dean," the name nearly silent from his lips.  
  
They're both breathing heavy as Sam rolls off, just enough so Dean's not smothered, their legs still twined and Sam lets one hand linger, tracing it along Dean's chest. Dean smile-smirks, a mix of the two changing even as Sam watches.  
  
"You get that I'm thankful now?" he asks.  
  
"Might take a few tries to convince me."  
  
"Jerk."


End file.
